


and golden days to come

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Domme Yennefer, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: A day on horseback doesn't seem like an impossible task, at least until Yennefer convinces Geralt to play a little game.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 22
Kudos: 291





	and golden days to come

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [one silver night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072546), but can be read as a standalone, since it's, let's be honest, pure porn. Hope you enjoy!

It seemed like a good idea at the time. And that‘s saying something, because Geralt is not one to fall for _good ideas_ easily. Looking back, that had changed when Yen and Jaskier came into his life like thunderstorm and lightning. 

So who is he kidding. It wasn‘t a good idea and it sure isn‘t one now, but he‘s melting like butter under their combined wickedness. 

He wriggles in his saddle and moans under his breath. Careful to not catch their attention. Yen shoots him a look that tells him he hasn‘t been subtle enough, a smug grin tugging on her perfect lips. Geralt grips his reigns tighter until his knuckles shine white and his palms hurt. 

With every sway of Roach‘s back, the small bulbous piece of polished stone moves inside him. Presses just so against his insides and makes stars flicker in the corners of his vision. He‘s been hard for hours, so long that he can barely remember what it feels like to have his most sensitive parts strangled by unrelenting leather. 

Now and then, Yen clicks her tongue and presses her thighs into the sides of her mare a little bit harder, and off she goes in an easy gallopp that Roach is eager to match. It‘s worse then. Geralt squeezes around the intrusion, which only makes him feel it more acutely, and he hates, he hates, he HATES his life choices. 

Roach slows down next to Jaskier‘s gelding, close enough that their thighs brush. Geralt clenches his teeth. It‘s just their knees and thighs, for fuck‘s sake, but his skin is burning from the touch as if he‘d been slapped. Jaskier eyes him closely, from Geralt‘s brow that‘s been constantly drenched with sweat since this morning, down his front to the obscenely obvious bulge in his pants. 

Jaskier licks his lips. Geralt‘s not sure he does it consciously, but the effect it has on Geralt is the same either way. Jaskier looks like a starved man presented with an overflowing buffet, pupils wide and lips slick with spit. At least Geralt is not alone in this. A small blessing. 

  
Yen had sucked Jaskier‘s cock this morning, in front of Geralt, slow and wicked and sinful, and just before he‘d come, she‘d sat back on her heels and grinned up at them both. 

„I have an idea,“ she‘d said, and that should have been the moment for Geralt to put his own sanity first and say no. 

„I think we should be back on the road,“ she‘d pondered, as if Jaskier‘s cock hadn‘t been only half an inch away from her lips, swollen angry red, begging for release. 

Geralt had been laying on the bed, his own cock in his hand, waiting for his turn after Jaskier had made him slick with oil and pushed that little plaything inside him. Yen had produced it from her saddle bag a day earlier, and he had the terrible suspicion that this had been her plan all along. 

„What?“ Jaskier had squealed at the same moment Geralt had grunted it. 

Yen had lifted one perfect eyebrow, daring them to contradict her, which they hadn‘t, not in bed. Not much outside of it either. 

„A little patience,“ she‘d said, standing and straightening her clothes. 

Thinking back on it, the picture they all must have made, Geralt‘s cock jerks in his pants, and a fresh trickle of precome glides down his shaft. 

He breathes sharply through his nose, proud that he manages to hold in the groan threatening in his throat. The smell of his own come tickles his nose, sharp and earthy. Under it, he catches Jaskier‘s scent, his desire like a cloud around him, and farther off, Yen who claims to be completely unaffected by their little game, even though Geralt know she‘s not. 

He looks over at her. Her nipples are clearly visible through the thin satin of her dress, two hard pearls just begging him to take them between his lips. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks tinted a rosy red. Geralt can see a drop of sweat trickling down her neck. 

He‘s about to say something, but Jaskier beats him to it. 

„You look like you could use a little rest, mylady.“ Yen hates it when Jaskier refers to her by that title, and Geralt can see her shoulders rise, but she doesn‘t react, just turns slowly in her saddle. 

„What a coincidence, I just thought that you must be tired after such a long exhausting ride.“ Her brows arc in mock inquiry. „But alas, Geralt always tells us that we should try to spend the night in town where it‘s safer and we can have a good warm meal. He‘s always worried for us, isn‘t he, Jaskier?“

Jaskier‘s eyes narrow but he flicks a quick glance over at Geralt, clearly unsure how to best play this. Geralt clears his throat. 

„I think we could make an exception for one night,“ he says with as much dignity and authority he can muster in this state. 

Yen taps a finger against her nose as if she‘s considering the suggestion. „If I remember correctly, there‘s a small stream about an hour north of here. I‘m sure we‘ll be able to carry on a little longer.“ She holds Geralt‘s gaze, checking in on him but also daring him to give up. 

It‘s strange, this thing they have, where Yen seems to hold all the power but in the ends it‘s him and Jaskier who give it to her: They can just as easily withdraw it again. Geralt sits up straighter and ignores the way the motion jostles the object pressing against that spot inside him in terrible, wonderful ways. 

He nods courtly, and nudges Roach with his knees. 

One hour. 

He can take that. 

He‘s been held captive. He had to attend never-ending, boring official events. He fought against slimy bog monsters wishing it was over already, counting the minutes fervently. But never in his life had an hour felt this long. His skin is burning from head to toe. The slightest breeze rustling his hair feels like a caress, makes him remember the way Yen threads her fingers through it, tugging just hard enough to sting. 

His mind is racing with downright filthy thoughts, painting vivid pictures of what will await him once they stop and Yen lifts the invisible reigns on them. There‘s no rhyme or reason to the images, just naked skin and one thousand ways to fuck each other senseless. It stokes the boiling want that‘s running though him with every beat of his heart, and he knows he‘s making it worse, but he can‘t stop his fancy from making up more and more elaborate scenes, some from memory, some out of nowhere, some frankly impossible. 

He‘s closed his eyes somewhere along the way, his teeth sunken deep into his bottom lips to keep from moaning with every motion of the horse under him. His clothes are drenched in sweat, rivulets running down his back and his chest, teasing his skin even more. He must look absolutely wrecked, but he doesn‘t dare open his eyes and check Jaskier‘s and Yen‘s expressions. He might be pliable to all of Yen‘s ideas, but he‘s also mulishly stubborn when challenged. 

He had said yes to her plan, so he‘ll see it through and if it‘s the last thing he does. 

When Yen stops beside him and he hears the telltale rustling of her skirts as she slides off the back of her horse, it doesn‘t register at first. Her hand touches his leg, and he blinks his eyes open slowly. 

Her lips are very red and he‘s focused on that color so completely that he doesn‘t hear the words at first. 

„Mhh?“ he hums. He‘s feeling dazed and disoriented. 

She covers his hands with her own, slowly opens his fingers until he lets go of his reigns. He didn’’t realize how tight they were curled around the leather. His skin prickles when the blood flows back into his hands. 

„You did so well,“ Yen smiles. 

Warmth spreads in his chest. He pulled through, and he made Yen smile. 

He unmounts, limbs shaking with the effort. Yen reaches for his neck, pulls him down to her mouth and kisses him deep and thoroughly. 

Jaskier is there a moment later, pressing against his back, circling his waist with his arms. Geralt straightens, gulping for air. He tugs on his collar, then starts to open the fastenings on his leather armor with feverish urgency. He feels trapped under it, too hot, constrained, choked. Two sets of hands are helping him, disappearing now and then, opening buttons and buckles. Through the fog that settled over his mind he hears the soft pants and gasps that indicate the moment fresh air meets heated skin, and he relishes the cool breeze once his own is blessfully exposed. 

He‘s led forward, towards the sound of running water. A blanket appears by his feet and a soft hand beckons him down upon it. 

He‘s on his knees. 

Yen‘s face comes into view, eyes big and full of that hunger that makes him do the most stupid things for her, just to see it flash in her gaze. She kisses him, quick and dirty, before she settles down, naked, thighs spread in invitation. Her right hand travels down from her neck, over a pebbled nipple, her flat stomach to the vee of her legs. When her index finger finds her clit she throws back her head and sighs in relief. Geralt‘s eyes are glued to her wet entrance, dripping already after the long wait. He wants to bury his face between her legs and never come up for air again. 

He leans closer, when a sharp „uh-uh“ makes him look up. 

„Not yet,“ she rasps and looks over his shoulder, presumably at Jaskier. Geralt follows her gaze. Jaskier is standing behind him, hand on his cock, stroking almost absentmindedly. His lips are slightly parted. He‘s focused Geralt‘s lower back. 

Oh. 

For a short moment, he forgot about Yen‘s little present, but is instantly reminded of its existence. Gaze never leaving Jaskier‘s face, he reaches back and tugs, slowly, watching as Jaskier‘s jaw drops. He feels himself widen around the bulbous top, grunts when it stretches him, holds it there for a delicious, torturous moment, until he slips it out. 

„Jaskier,“ he mutters, breathless. 

It‘s been a while since their first night at the inn, and they did almost everything people could do with each other. But this feels new somehow, the thought of having Jaskier fill him after hours of fantasizing about it. Jaskier sinks down in his knees like his strings have been cut, a warm and trembling hand following the curve of Geralt‘s back and his ass. 

Geralt moans helplessly at the touch, every single one of his nerves on fire just from that simple caress. Jaskier comes closer and Geralt closes his eyes, fingers digging into the blanket under him, waiting for Jaskier to sink into him. 

A small eternity later, he feels the press of lips against his lower back, a hand spreading him, and then, Jaskier‘s tongue licking a long stripe over his hole. 

„Fuck,“ Geralt grunts, head bowed. He‘s still open and loose, Jaskier‘s tongue spreads him easily, but he feels all the more sensitive for it, each lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. 

Yen seems to like what she sees on his face, for she‘s fingering herself in rapid strokes. Geralt shoves her hand away, looking up at her in question. 

She lies back with a tight smile. „You may,“ she declares, like a queen allowing a knight to kiss her hand. Geralt doesn‘t waste time and brings his mouth to her wet cunt, licking and sucking her folds before he closes his lips over her clit, making her moan. 

He wonders what they look like, spread out like this, moaning and undulating against each other like mindless animals. Jaskier‘s tongue is insistent and skillful, soon joined by one of his calloused fingers and Geralt pushes back against the pressure to take him deeper, all the while rasping his pleasure against Yen. 

Yen‘s fingers dig into his scalp. 

„More,“ she moans, an order he‘s all to willing to follow. He flicks his tongue against her clit one last time, delighted by the shiver it elicits. Jaskier sits up behind him. Geralt wants them both, with a hunger that shocks him, still, after all they‘ve been through. He turns and captures Jaskier‘s lips in a deep kiss, reaching down to give his cock a few tight strokes. 

It takes a bit of maneuvering then. 

Yen‘s spread out under him, thighs hefted over his arms, and he crawling towards her, closer, kneeling between the silk-skin of her open legs, her pussy slick and blooming pink for him. He grabs his cock and teases her opening with the head, making her laugh breathlessly and smirk at him. She‘s so fucking beautiful like this, a faint blush creeping up the elegant curve of her neck, her chest rising and falling with her breaths, the sunlight dancing over her strong body. 

Unable to hold off longer, his hips rock forward while his eyes are glued to her entrance. The thick head of his cock is swallowed by her wet heat, fills her up slowly. His hoarse breaths are accompanied by her low moans. They fucked before, so many times, he knows to expect the tight heat of her body, the way she‘ll grip him and burn him, but every time, it‘s like the first, and all he thought he knew is lost when he sinks inside her again. 

Jaskier‘s hands on his back steady him while he finds his position and sets a slow rhythm, and he has to smile at the low, reverent „Holy Mother“ that escapes Jaskier as he watches Yen and him. 

He looks to the side, finds Jaskier next to them, absentmindedly palming his cock while his eyes greedily follow the line of Yen‘s body to the point where Geralt buries himself in her. His hand is still high on Geralt’s back, playing with his hair, stroking the expanse of his shoulders, skimming lower. Geralt shoots him a look, and whatever Jaskier finds in it, it makes him lean in and capture Geralt‘s lips in a bruising kiss. The hand travels lower, and gods, yeah, he wants that, wants Jaskier as much as he wants Yen, both of them so different …

A finger sinks into him, without hesitation, deep and determined, and he gasps against Jaskier‘s lips, rocks his ass back to take it deeper, rocks forward again to push inside Yen‘s body, and it‘s already so fucking good his mind is cotton-clouded with it, and he‘s sweating and his heart is pounding loudly in his ears, but still he wants more. 

The second finger stretches him, makes him whimper and thrust erractically forward, pushing a short cry out of Yen. Jaskier plunders his mouth with his tongue and fucks him steady with his fingers, and Geralt has to fight to stop it for a second, draw back and catch his breath. 

Jaskier looks at him, wide-eyed, disoriented with desire, sweat-dark hair plastered to his forehead and curling at his nape, his lips bitten raw. 

Geralt takes him in, the milky satin of his skin, the dark patch of chest hair that can‘t conceal the hard nubs of his nipples, and his gorgeous cock, protruding from his narrow hips, proud and thick and dripping with precome. 

Time hangs suspended for a long moment, and he feels Yen‘s eyes on them both, before her hand wanders up his arm to his neck and he turns toward her. 

Without leaving Geralt‘s gaze, she muses, „I thinks he wants you to fuck him, Jaskier“. 

Her voice is sultry, sin incarnate and they‘re both so used to her ordering them around that Jaskier doesn‘t waste any time. Yen‘s eyes are dark wells he wants to drown in, sucking him inside her, he wants to lay himself down at her feet and let her take whatever she wants. 

Jaskier‘s forehead is pressed against his back and Geralt can feel his panting breaths on his skin, as if he needs to collect himself. Firm hands curl around Geralt‘s hips in a tight grip that makes jitterish anticipation flutter in his gut. He leans forward over Yen, hoisted up on his hands with straight arms, his hair coming loose and tickling over Yen‘s breasts. 

He‘s panting like a race horse by now, every nerve in his body pulled taught and flaring with desire. Yen‘s hand rest tenderly on his cheek, but her eyes are wide with the same passion that thrums between the three of them. The blunt head of Jaskier‘s cock nudges at his hole and Geralt has to close his eyes, turns his face into Yen‘s hand to bite down on the soft mound under her thumb. The stretch is wider than before, and even after being filled all day, his body has to adjust to the new girth. His own cock is jerking violently inside Yen as Jaskier pushes forward slow but steady until he‘s finally seated deep inside Geralt. 

They all exhale together when they are fully joined. 

Geralt takes the moment to just feel, the closeness of his lovers all around him, being fully enveloped by them, and it‘s glorious, but the need burning inside him is stronger, the need to be taken apart by the both of them, to shatter between them and become something new.

He rolls his hips slowly, a hoarse moan wrestling free from somewhere deep inside his chest. He‘s setting a slow, sensual pace, fucking into Yen, taking Jaskier‘s cock, just chasing his own pleasure for once, focusing only on his own sensations, his own shuddering breaths and the sounds their bodies make, wet and dirty. Yen and Jaskier let him use them, hold still as he fucks them both and takes what he needs. He never had sex like this, he never trusted anyone enough to let go and lose himself like he does with Yen and Jaskier. The pressure builds inside him, with every brush of Jaskier‘s cock against his insides, with every clench of Yen‘s cunt around him. 

His muscles are trembling, he‘s shaking apart from the inside out. And that‘s before – before his lovers seem to decide it‘s their turn. Yen‘s hand lifts, twists in his hair and when he opens his eyes, he finds her eyes even darker with desire. Her grip is tight, almost painful, and the feral grin on her face tells him the time for doing things his way is over. 

Jaskier grabs his shoulder, deepens the angle of his thrusts, and then the worlds crumbles around him, until the only thing real and important is the ebb and flow of their bodies, rocking and sliding, pushing, pulling, fast and hard, while Geralt can only groan helplessly with the pleasure that rocks him to his very core. Jaskier grunts behind him, his hands like vices on Geralt‘s hips. His rough breaths hot on Geralt‘s back and neck. 

„Fucking heavens, Geralt, you‘re – I always – feel so good, I could…“ Jaskier stumbles over his words, voice hoarse and broken, and it does things to Geralt, the knowledge that he makes Jaskier lose control like this, it makes heat surge inside him, and his heart swells. Jaskier crept inside it to make his home for good, past every defense Geralt built up over the years. 

And Yen. 

Back arched in one graceful line, she thrusts her hips up toward him, uses him just like she wants, milks his cock with the tight grip of her cunt while she tugs on his hair, closer, until he can lean down and suck one of her nipples between his lips, hard enough to make her cry out, just the way she likes it. Her other hand is playing with her clit, and she rubs herself in time with their erratic meeting, and Geralt loves her, too, for her strength and her bravery but most of all for the warmth that still lives inside her, barricaded against the cold world but so much more precious when she lets him see it. 

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. There‘s no way he deserves this, a creature made to kill and slay, to be worshiped like this. But he‘s fallen in love with the two most boneheaded beings in the world and his arguments always fall on barren ground. 

He‘s wanted, and needed, and loved, and there‘s nothing he can do to make them stop. 

Overwhelmed by the revelation, he cushions his forehead onto Yen‘s shoulder, gives in to it all.

Yen, as if she awaited his surrender, snaps up her hips to take him harder, again and again, until she cries out and comes, moments before Jaskier fucks him deep and holds there, a curse tumbling from him while shudders, and Geralt feels it all, Jaskier spilling deep inside him, Yen constricting in long waves. 

Time hangs suspended while he takes the pleasure of his lovers, a vessel for their lust, and it’s almost as better than chasing his own release, to give this to them. But his own body can’t be denied any longer. The tight coil inside him, strung taught over the course of the day, snaps, and he tumbles over the edge himself. 

He‘s shaking with the force of it, breathlessly holds himself up while his climax thunders through him and he comes in long pulls, clenches around Jaskier’s softening cock, empties himself into Yen with a sigh. 

Jaskier is plastered against his back and Yen plays lazily with his hair until he can breathe again. His cheek is cushioned by her breasts, his most favorite place in the whole world. 

The sun starts its decent in the west, and Geralt blinks against it to gouge the time. 

„We‘ll stay here for the night,“ he murmurs. There‘s no way he‘s able to sit on a horse right now. He isn’t even sure he could move if he wanted to. 

Yen rubs his scalp in soothing circles. „I‘ll watch over you while you sleep,“ she whispers. Jaskier slides off his back to lie beside them in an inelegant heap. „And I‘ll write a song about your ass that will bring tears to people‘s eyes,“ he promises with a lewd grin. 

Geralt chuckles to himself while his eyelids droop and his pulse slows down. They will, he thinks, and I will let them. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [procasdeanating](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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